


Vindicated

by Mike_H



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24587542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mike_H/pseuds/Mike_H
Summary: Prompt:Madara is a vampire and Tobirama follows him into the dark.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	Vindicated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raendown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/gifts).



> Prompt: _Madara is a vampire and Tobirama follows him into the dark._

Madara loves to dance.

Tobirama loves watching him, starlight and firelight casting moving shadows upon him, sharpening features, softening others.

The sway of his narrow hips. The way his jeans ride low upon them. His hair, free and untamed. The blood red fabric of his crop top is stark against the paleness of his skin.

Madara is a vision. He is a dream made flesh. Temptation and salvation.

Tobirama is — as always — drawn to him.

Their only music is the roar of the ocean, the crackle of fire, the quiet of the night. Madara dances to their symphony, eyes closed, feet bare. He moves like seduction, like sex.

Tobirama can't take his eyes off of him.

  


* * *

  


The last time they saw each other was a decade ago.

The first rays of sunlight, crawling through their window, warming patches of bare skin.

In his arms, Madara had been warm.

Had been human.

  


* * *

  


Madara is not like the others.

Even now, he is drawn to fire. Even now, he dances dangerously close to it.

It would be so easy to kill him. One touch, and he would burn till he is nothing but ash.

Tobirama thinks this, feels his heart clench in the way that makes it hard to breathe.

He would not kill Madara, even if it meant his own life. Even if it meant _many_ lives.

He walks toward him, catches Madara's hand in his.

Madara spins into Tobirama's arms.

His eyes, open and bright-dark.

  


* * *

  


Ten years ago, Madara had died.

Tobirama had died with him.

  


* * *

  


His skin is cold. He is dead and alive, mesmerizing, otherworldly.

Tobirama stares into Madara's eyes, knows that Madara has no need of the _encanto_ to charm him.

For Madara, he would do anything.

He would bathe the world in blood and flame. Would fell friend and foe alike, till nothing and no one stands between them.

His hand, tracing the smooth curve of Madara's cheek. In his hold, Madara is a willing, pliant thing.

He is different. He is the same.

Tobirama bows his head and kisses him.

  


* * *

  


For years, rage churned beneath the blood in his veins.

It was this rage, this _hate_ that drove him.

He learned to hunt. Learned _them._ Robbed them of what mattered most, with blessed blade and flame.

Their lives. Their families. Their homes. Their pride.

He hated them for what they were, what they took from him. Hates them still.

But he can't hate what Madara has become.

  


* * *

  


Madara is a dream.

A thing of beauty, beneath him. His skin, marble-pale. His hair, splayed upon the sand.

Tobirama curls his fingers into their edges. Tangles them the way he tangles their legs, their tongues.

Madara tastes like wildfire. Like home.

Tobirama breathes him in. His hands, everywhere. All over Madara's new-old body. Every inch of him, familiar and foreign.

They kiss like starved things. Madara's arms and legs around him. Tobirama knows it is desperation that drives his touch. It has been too long.

  


* * *

  


He will never forget the way that creature burned.

The one who turned Madara, against his will. Thieved him of choice and freedom.

Tobirama would always remember.

The fear in his eyes. The way he screamed. Scent of blood and smoke in the air.

Ashes, ashes.

  


* * *

  


There is no part of Madara that Tobirama does not mark.

His touches are fervid, possessive. Madara should have been his to turn, but Tobirama had been human then, is human still.

The very thought burns. Madara is _his,_ his alone to make and unmake as he pleases.

He sinks into him, and Madara's cries are loud echoes in the dark. A song, for Tobirama only. Such fire within him. Tobirama's lips, teeth, hands, all over, relearning the topography of Madara's unaged body.

Madara's scent is changed, but his spirit has not. He is fire, unmarred, unquenched.

Tobirama thrusts inside him, drinking Madara's cries, savoring all that he is. The taste of him, passion and corruption upon his tongue.

And his fangs.

Captivating and grotesque, sliding out. Tobirama has seen them before, and still he stares in wonderment. There is no part of Madara that he does not think beautiful.

He presses their bodies together. So close, there is no room between them. Madara's face, against the crook of his neck. His heartbeat, racing beneath Tobirama's own.

"Do it," Tobirama says.

Madara stills beneath him.

Tobirama does not pull back. He rocks inside Madara, making him cry out, lips parted against the skin stretched over Tobirama's vein, his pulse. The sharp points of his teeth, grazing. He does not bite.

Tobirama pulls away. His hips do not cease. His hand comes to rest upon Madara's cheek. "I do not want to walk in the afterlife without you by my side."

_I won't let you walk this world alone._

And Madara's eyes. There is something that burns within them.

Understanding. Want. Joy. _Love._

His are eyes that show all he is. Dark and resolute.

Tobirama blankets Madara's body with his own. His neck against Madara's lips, an offering. A _choice._

Madara bites down.


End file.
